Psalm 28

I arrived early to work this morning and sat in the parking lot. God, I don't have the strength today - if I go in there the way I am right now, I'm going to lose it. I can't face this day.

An old dusty statement from my adolescent years fell from my lips last night, "I don't want to feel anymore." Nothing good ever comes from not feeling.

I flipped open to the Psalms, hoping to find the verse about how God sets our feet in spacious places, but instead I found this:

To you I call, O LORD my Rock;
do not turn a deaf ear to me.
For if you remain silent,
I will be like those who have gone down to the pit.
Hear my cry for mercy
as I call to you for help,
as I lift up my hands
toward your Most Holy Place...

...Praise be to the LORD,
for he has heard my cry for mercy.
The LORD is my strength and my shield;
my heart trusts in him, and I am helped.
My heart leaps for joy
and I will give thanks to him in song.

My heart trusts in him, and I am helped.

Not Without Him

What I've learned this past week is sometimes God shows up by not showing up.

Sometimes He withholds His presence because He loves us too much to let us continue in the lies.

Sometimes His absence makes us pause and question the road we're on. Like Moses, I beg, "If Your Presence does not go with us, do not bring us up from here." God, if You're not coming with me, I'm not going.

Sometimes his silence changes our plans. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me, but if He doesn't show up, I can't do anything without Him.

I pray, seek counsel, pause and question, and make a change.

The decision final, I pray again -- and in the quiet darkness His peace floods in.

Oh, there You are, God.

Desperate

What do you do when you look for God and can't find Him?

I needed Him badly this morning. I broke routine and went where I thought I might hear His voice...but I didn't.

Now what?

I was banking on being in His presence; I had all my eggs in His basket, and He didn't show.

Now I have to face this week alone?

Yesterday I cried on my knees in my bedroom. Today I cried in the Macy's parking lot.

How empty do I have to be?

How desperate?

What am I supposed to do with all this pain?

A friend called and we talked for awhile. He told me about Rich Mullins' song Hard To Get, and now I'm listening to the words, letting it play over and over again.

http://grooveshark.com/#!/search?q=rich+mullins+hard+to+get

Life Hurts

Do you ever feel like life, like just being here hurts?

Don't get me wrong - I think life is good and that it's worth pushing through. I'm just saying that the pain is there, and sometimes it hurts more than others.

Sometimes. Like now, like yesterday, like the day before yesterday.

Just putting toes on the bedroom rug, thinking of all the steps the day requires, shuffling out to the coffeemaker, making breakfast, getting ready, turn down the heat, turn on the car, lock the back door, drive to work, personalities, thoughts, views, opinions, responsibilities, people, culture...I almost can't stand it. It feels like an unending barrage of demands and I'm running on empty. I feel overwhelmed, exhausted, trapped, scared, and mad that I'm scared. I'm on edge. I feel like I'm going to lose it.

I don't know what this is about and I'm not sure I have the energy to care. Delayed processing, spiritual attack, growing pains? I don't know.

I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, hoping for a glimpse of Him that'll make it all worth it.

Monday: Reality Check

I felt pretty good as I hopped out of bed this morning. Good weekend, decent sleep, a low-traffic Monday...things were looking up!

Then I read my devotional, and it said my day would hold difficulties, but God would be with me.

Oh right.

Of course.

Fallen world = imperfect day. Do I really start off thinking that things are going to go smoothly, the way I want them to? Sadly...yes. No wonder I'm blindsided by disappointment so often.

Difficulties, difficulties, difficulties I whispered to myself as I got in the car.

It turned out that the biggest difficulty I encountered all day was me. I guess I should've seen that coming.

That Which We Have Seen and Heard

I slept soundly last night for the first time in over a week. It was wonderful. On my way to the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the bathroom mirror. As a female, I look in the mirror every day, but it's usually at parts of me - an eyelid, a gray hair, a stray eyebrow, a new laugh line. Today I looked in the mirror and saw me, saw Lauren. It felt like it'd been a long time.

For the last two weeks, I've been sharing blog posts with my Friday night group. I've confessed to a crowd something that I've previously only whispered to a few. It's been a terrifying, liberating experience.

Initially I was excited for all the wrong reasons - I get to share my blog! Maybe they'll like it...maybe it's not good enough...maybe - hold it. Wait. Stop. Ever so clearly, I felt the Spirit say, "it's not about you, Lauren. All you're doing is sharing how God showed up for you when you were at the end of yourself. It's all about Him." In the span of an hour, God changed my heart so that when it was time to share, I was appropriately nervous, praying that He'd handpicked the people who came and that He would use my experience to touch their lives - that I would be a vessel in His hands. That was the first Friday.

I thought I'd be more relaxed the next week - after all, the hard work was done - but actually I was more nervous; I'm still not sure why. My prayer remained the same, that He would be honored, that He would touch hearts, but the anxiety persisted. Maybe it's okay that it did. Maybe it kept me acutely aware that without Him I offer nothing. Maybe it was important for me to push through the fear no matter what the personal consequences. Maybe it's not about being comfortable, but about testifying to "that which I've seen and heard," His presence in my here and now.

All I know is that when I saw myself in the mirror this morning, I saw eyes that were clear and rested. I saw peace instead of weariness. I saw wholeness instead of all the many flaws.

Beneath the lingering anxiety, I saw joy.

That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled, concerning the Word of Life - the life was manifested, and we have seen, and bear witness, and declare to you that eternal life which was with the Father and was manifested to us - that which we have seen and heard we declare to you, that you also may have fellowship with us; and truly our fellowship is with the Father and with His Son Jesus Christ. And these things we write to you that your joy may be full. 1 John 1:1-4

A Memory Worth Celebrating

A friend of mine talks about foundational memories - those memories that stick in our minds, the ones that have shaped our lives for good or for bad. I can't remember the specifics, but at some point I learned that it wasn't okay for me to be angry. Since it's not okay for me to be angry, when I am mad, I have to hide it and make it go away. That's where the self-destructive behavior comes in - it redirects my attention without ever exploring the reasons behind the emotion. Anger, hide it, redirect - this has been my pattern for years.

With this month's triggering event (my last post), God gave me a new foundational memory. It was okay for me to be angry. I asked for help with the anger instead of hiding it. I let it out instead of holding it in. I was accepted, not rejected - loved, not judged - free to let it go and able to process it - mentally and physically unscathed, instead of scarred and ashamed.

A new foundational memory to replace the old one. A new picture. Hope for the future.

I shared this with a friend, whose face lit up with excitement, "This is worth celebrating!" Celebrating...yes, I guess it is! It is a big deal. I was so glad to be reminded me that I can celebrate God's intervention in my life. We didn't just talk about it - my friend went the extra mile:

A lasting, physical reminder of God's love and presence in my life. To trade a scar for a charm, self-hate for God's love, destruction for freedom - freedom into Life. No words can suffice, just Thank You, God.

Processing Anger

Earlier this month, I was in charge of an event. I spent months dreading it, planning it, rounding up support for it, getting ideas for it, and the day before it was to happen, it was canceled, canceled for no good reason. It was like hitting a brick wall. Anger, frustration, disappointment, disbelief - anger, frustration, disappointment, disbelief, over and over and over again. I don't know what to do with anger; I never have. I don't know how to process it.

I spoke with my counselor. We talked about steps I could take, questions I could ask, conversations I could have. It was nice to know what to do, but I needed more time. I needed help being in my own skin; I wasn't okay. I felt wrecked - raw and undone, unable to think clearly, unable to get perspective. I felt like I'd crossed a threshold and couldn't go back.

I couldn't calm down.

I had the conversations, I asked the questions, but nothing changed and I - could - not - process. I felt myself spiraling, stuck in my emotions, and when I get like that I only know one way out - physical pain to shock my system. It's a means of grounding, of regaining control, but it comes with a cost: shame, despair, and self-loathing.

As a last resort, I sent out emails to close friends, "I don't know if I'm going to make it through the week." They wrote back, they advised, they prayed. One of them called me on my way home from work, and he listened as it all came tumbling out - the lack of consideration, the selfishness, the injustice of it all. He listened. He didn't minimize, he didn't brush it off, he didn't tell me I was overreacting. He didn't question my anger. He let me know that my feelings were appropriate and valid. It didn't change the situation, but it changed me. I found that I could breathe again. I discovered that there was space inside for me to sort through and process my emotions. Instead of bottling it up and bearing the marks of the brunt of my anger, I'd let it out in the safety of a friendship and found acceptance, love, and the freedom to let it go.

From darkness into light.

A Sacred Grief

Copy, fold. Copy, fold. Copy, fold. Copy, fold.

The machine prints out the programs like clockwork. They line the tray, mirror images of each other, one after another after another. On the cover, the face of a young man - healthy, full of life, a friendly smile. I've never met him, but I've looked at his photo so much today that I know I'd recognize him if he walked through the door...

...but he won't. At least, not here.

Kneeling beside the copier, I scoop up the programs and lay them gently in the box. I wish I had something softer, something with fabric and smooth corners. There are already too many sharp edges. I wish I could place them directly into the hands that loved, the hands that cared, but that won't happen until Saturday.

Copy, fold. Copy, fold. Three hundred, four hundred, five...

How can this be?

How does one so strong become one so frail? Twenty-seven: the same age as my brother. They, too, have a baby on the way.

What words can bring comfort?

Who can know what it is to suffer the stabbing, piercing loss and separation, and celebrate the Life, whole and healed for all time? Who can know the gut-wrenching pain of a wife, a mother, a father? Of grandparents? Of brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts and cousins and friends? Who can know?

Words fall flat - insufficient, trite.

This is sacred ground.

What is there to do but wrap arms and hearts around, offer shoulders for leaning and to lift the weight, and give glimpses of grace, of beauty, and of Christ?

On Making Mistakes

To my boss: "I'm tired of making mistakes."
Him: "You'd better get used to it."

I laughed, but a day later, his answer continues to ring in my mind. I was expecting him to say, "Oh, you'll get it eventually," but instead it was, "You'd better get used to it," - as in, you'll never not make mistakes. Once again, I've been operating under a let-me-learn-how-to-do-everything-so-that-I-can-do-it-perfectly mentality. I really did (do?) think that one day I wouldn't make mistakes anymore! How arrogant, how absurd. I guess I slipped that Super Lauren cape back on again...I really, really want to be perfect, but in reality, I'm such a mess.

I'm glad he reminded me of my humanness.